


The Excommunication Project: Enemy Unknown

by Phalanx



Category: Diablo (Video Game), Diablo III, XCOM, XCOM: Enemy Unknown (2012)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phalanx/pseuds/Phalanx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diablo might have been sealed within the Black Soulstone, but the Prime Evils were not the only ones interested in subverting humanity for their own purposes. Peace is shattered by an invasion of strange, alien demons, and a desperate Angiris Council appoints the Nephalem to lead the Excommunication Project: Sanctuary's first and only last line of defense against the Ethereal Ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secrets of the Ages

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story contains spoilers for XCOM: Enemy Unknown and XCOM: Enemy Within. It also contains spoilers for Diablo III and may contain spoilers for The Reaper of Souls.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrael received word from Vrom the Demon Hunter and finds out that all is not well in Sanctuary.

 

**1.**

**Secrets of the Ages**

* * *

A full moon had passed since the fall of the Prime Evil. An uneasy peace of sorts had settled upon the High Heavens since the Great Invasion of Hell. While the survivors had soldiered on, the way of life for the Seraphim had still changed irrevocably. Even as Tyrael, the Aspect of Wisdom, stood upon the bridge overlooking the Silver City, he could still see the scars of Diablo's rampage, the near-victory of Hell that would have come to pass if it not had been for the heroic efforts of the mortals known as the new Nephalem.

Despite the promise of a brighter future and an alliance between the Nephalem and the Seraphim however, all was not well in the High Heavens. Tyrael might have been appointed The Aspect of Wisdom by the leaders of Heaven, but he knew it was a role not many of the Seraphim could accept a mortal taking on. No, even if that mortal had previously been an angel, the Archangel of Justice himself, no less.

Tyrael frowned. He had no regrets on choosing to give up his Seraphim form to become a mortal. The actions of the Nephalem had proven his choice right, his sacrifice worthy. But still...

He broke out of his dark thoughts when saw the raven coming. The drab mortal creature, looking very out of place in its celestial surroundings, was laboriously making its way through the air, wings working hard to keep aloft. Tyrael knew the creature by sight; the raven had been a companion of one of the Nephalem who had defeated Diablo. Yes, the dour one with the penchant for incendiary explosions, the demon hunter who went by the name of Vrom. As the raven spotted him and purposefully changed course, he wondered what had brought the bird here. Then as it drew closer however, he noticed the heavy burden it carried— a bundle of scrolls, securely wrapped in oilskin.

"What message do you bring from Vrom, my feathered friend?" Tyrael greeted the messenger bird, offering a perch in the form of his shoulder. The weary bird gratefully accepted, and allowed Tyrael to remove its load. Not without some relief too, he imagined; the parcel was comically overlarge for a bird of its size. Vrom was every bit as wordy in his writing as he was with his speech in real life, which made for heavy dispatches, and the poor bird had really had to put in some effort to get its delivery to its intended destination.

Tyrael chuckled as he unrolled the bundle of scrolls, welcoming some news removed from the politics of Heaven and the Angiris Council. He was however, duly surprised when instead of Vrom's usual rambling epistles there was only a relatively short message in the bundle, and the rest of the delivery contained a collection of illustrations. Tyrael glanced at unusually terse note accompanying them:

* * *

 

> _Tyrael,_
> 
> _Some new malevolent force has been laying siege to our demon hunters in the Dreadlands. What troubles me is they do not resemble the remnants of the forces of hell after the Prime Evil's defeat, nor do they seem to have any purpose in attacking us that I can comprehend._
> 
> _I have included a drawing of the creatures we glimpsed, including the one that was leading the invasion forces. It is quite accurate to how it looks in person. As you know I have a good eye and steady hand for such things. Another thing: I know the feel of demons well, but the power this creature had felt nothing like theirs. This one reminded me of the corrupted angels we encountered when Diablo invaded the Crystal Arch, but without the reek of demonic taint._
> 
> _I do not know how to explain it or what it wants from us, but I intend to find out. I may also choose to find out by the means of filling its head with bolts._
> 
> _One more thing: it made a mention of the Angiris Council. If you recognise any of these demons, or who this fallen angel is and why it should choose to command an army of demons against us, please send word by return raven. Corvus, my raven, will find me._
> 
> _Your friend,_
> 
> _Vrom_
> 
> _PS: If this fallen angel is of any importance and if there is any reason why I should **not**  fill his angelic head with bolts, also send word by return raven. You might wish to tell Corvus to make haste in that case._

* * *

With chagrined curiosity, Tyrael unrolled one of the parchments containing Vrom's illustrations. The first showed a strange, egg-headed imp-like creature, the second showed a strange aberration that looked like a gargoyle cut in half, and the third showed a prickly spider-creature with spear-like legs. Hideous monstrosities indeed, but nothing that seemed spectacular enough for a Nephalem who had faced the worst of the armies of hell to be worried about.

Then Tyrael picked up the last illustration and froze in recognition. The distinctive visage of an individual long forgotten jumped out at him through the rough but uncannily accurate lines of Vrom's drawing. The parchment crackled as Tyrael involuntarily clenched his fists. It was unmistakable, the shape of that headress-hood, the pattern of those robes... despite himself the former archangel-turned-mortal found himself blurting out a name none of the Angiris Council had uttered for eons, or ever wished to hear of again.

The beauty of the restored Gardens of Hope flashed by unheeded as Tyrael hurried his way to Library of Fate, startling the seraphim he encountered in his mad charge. He did not stop running until he arrived and burst through the doors.

"Itherael!" he managed to gasp out before having to stop for breath so he could continue speaking. There were drawbacks to being restricted to a mortal form. It was only then, when he was still catching his breath, when he became aware of the presence of Auriel, Archangel of Hope, in Itherael's sanctuary as well.

"What has happened, Tyrael?" she asked, looking at him with concern.

He returned her concerned look. Behind her, Itherael, the Archangel of Fate was in a state of great agitation, aimlessly circling with the Scroll of Fate firmly in his grasp. "All of creation bows before the New One, the tyrant overwhelming..." he recited feverishly. "It changes, every iteration darker than the one before it!"

"Tyrael?" Auriel prompted, drawing Tyrael's attention back to her. He quickly realised that he had interrupted her while she was trying to calm Itherael down but chose not to comment on it.

"I came to consult Fate, but it seems he too, has foresight of the ill tidings I bear." He showed Auriel the drawing Vrom had sent him. Just as he had, she recognised him immediately.

"Ubethrael...?"

"Yes," Tyrael said grimly. "He was seen near Arreat, which means that not only have The Ethereal Ones escaped their eternal prison in the Void, they have discovered Sanctuary as well... "

"...and the existence of the Nephalem," Auriel finished for him, her tone grave as she too, understood the implications.

Itherael, still agitated, finally ceased circling and floated back down to join them in discussion.

"If Ubethrael realises what the Nephalem are, and the extent of their potential power, he will no doubt seek them out for another attempt at Ascension."

Tyrael's face was grim as memories of the past surfaced. "We cannot allow Ubethrael to succeed. If he does, there will be nothing left in all creation that can withstand him, or the return of The Ethereal Ones."

* * *

**End of Chapter 1**


	2. This Council Has Appointed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vrom is given a rather unwelcome assignment. He is not amused.

**2.**

**This Council Has Appointed You**

* * *

"Corvus, what on earth is this thing you have brought me?"

The weary crow turned its head and looked at the human who had spoken and whom it had allied itself with. It cawed before persistently nudging its glittering cargo at its human again. When this did not get the desired reaction, it flapped over, pecked its human on the top of his head as it passed, and flew off in disgust. Vrom the demon hunter, the hero known as The Nephalem, flinched and muttered a curse as the object slipped and fell from his fingers.

Kormac was the swiftest, and caught the item in midair before it hit the ground. "It's a shard of something crystal-like," was his commentary. This elicited a look of annoyance from Vrom. The templar had always been in the habit of stating the obvious.

"I sense some sort of angelic magic emanating from this artifact," Eirena the enchantress said as she took the shard from Kormac and examined it. "I wonder... how does it work?"

"Hell if I know." Vrom was not in a good mood at this point.  _That damned Corvus... what was it so mad about?_

"Angels don't write letters, huh?" Lyndon snarked as Eirena continued fiddling with the shard. "I don't see why Ol' Tyrael couldn't just-"

Whatever the scoundrel meant to say about Tyrael was promptly forgotten as Eirena gave a little shriek, which was followed up by Kormac's shout:

"BY ALL THAT IS HOLY!"

All four adventurers whipped out their backup weapons as the shard suddenly flared to life in Eirena's hands. There was a tense moment of silence, but then the light proved to be harmless as an image took form from the glowing light.

"Illusion magic!" muttered Vrom. He had no great love for it, especially after his encounter with Belial, the demon who had been known as The Lord of Lies, and then Azmodan, who had used some similar magic to send some rather futile public disservice messages during the siege of Bastion's Keep. But instead of a demon lord, the ghostly image that appeared before them was that of a heavily-built man. The light was at his back, so all you could see of him was the perfect silhouette of his bald head and broad-set shoulders, but that was more than enough to make an identification.

"Tyrael!"

"Hello, my friend," the silhouette greeted. "I'm glad to see Corvus found you and the vision shard worked. Auriel mentioned there might be some difficulty. I don't have much time, so I must get to the point.

"About the contents of your letter: Yes, I know who is responsible for the attacks: they are an entity we call the Ethereal Ones. Your demon hunters were not alone. I also received word from Ytalea and Li Ming that Ivgorod and Xiansai too, suffered attacks."

"Surely two warriors of their calibre should have been able to take care of the situation?"

"For now, but that is not the worst of it, those demons you encountered in the Dreadlands are but a fraction of their real power. The Ethereal Ones have other weapons, great flying fortresses and arcane constructs that surpass those of the Horadrim at their peak. And worst of all, you were right. The figure you met was a fallen angel- a former member of the Angiris Council."

"What?!"

"A long time ago, long before Inarius ever created Sanctuary, he used to be known as Ubethrael, Archangel of Ambition. But he... turned to dangerous paths. We were forced to excommunicate and imprison him and his followers in the Void to prevent them from carrying out their mad plan for something called 'The Ascension'. It seems that after this long time however, they have escaped."

"Is the Council planning to do something, then?"

"Yes. In light of the recent incursion by the Ethereal Ones, this council has agreed on the initiation of the Excommunication Project. Several of the human nations I still have influence over have convened to take part in it as well. Together with this Council, they have agreed to appoint you to lead the initiative, to oversee humanity's first and last line of defense.

"Your efforts will have considerable influence on the future of Sanctuary, and that of all Creation as well. I urge you to keep that in mind as you proceed on to the new base of operations Isf have arranged for you... er, Vrom?"

Vrom's candid response to Tyrael's speech at this point was a disbelieving sputter.

* * *

From his chamber in the Silver Spire, Tyrael saw the image of Vrom jump to his feet. Even the ghostly echo of him from the vision shard radiated utmost confusion and not a little bit of fury.

"Me?! Wait, why aren't you getting involved at all? Aren't you one of us now? What of the Angiris Council? Are they planning to sit by and do nothing again?"

"Imperius has decreed that the heavenly hosts are not to directly intefere with what goes on in Sanctuary. Council was not able to convince him otherwise."

"Auriel and Itherael didn't see fit to lend their support?"

"It is being debated as we speak. Unfortunately, it seems unlikely we will be able to expend significant resources to aid Sanctuary, Vrom," Tyrael said sadly, as he turned to look out the window. "The Ethereal Ones have already come for us."

There was a stunned pause from the demon hunter. "Tyrael, do you mean to say the High Heavens are under attack again?"

Tyrael did not answer the question. "You must go back to Bastion's Keep, Vrom. We will keep the worst of the Ethereal forces focused upon us. The Ethereal Ones only strike now because they fear we will interfere with what they have planned for you. They intend to enslave humanity for their Ascension, and you are the one who must lead the effort to prevent that at all costs. I will speak to you again about this matter, but I must go now.

"Good luck, my friend."

Thankfully, the vision shard stopped functioning and cut off 'his friend's' colourful objections.

* * *

"I am surprised you chose the reclusive demon hunter as your Commander," Auriel would comment later. "I would have thought some of the other Nephalem would have been far more suitable as a leader of men."

"You are right, if this war could be won by mere flesh, they would have been the ideal choices. But from our skirmishes so far we already know that the power of Ubethrael's forces lies not in his troops, but the fel devices they wield."

Auriel was troubled. "It is true, the green fire artifacts they have empowered their troops with turns even the weakest imp in their ranks into a considerable threat. And those flying fortresses are... formidable."

"Exactly. We have fallen behind The Ethereals in this regard, and I fear Imperius' wrath has blinded him to the importance of it. This war will be won by the side that possesses the greatest mastery of such weapons. That is why the Excommunication Project is so vital to our success.

"In order to defeat our enemy, we must understand them. Of all the Nephalem, Vrom was the only one who made routine use of such knowledge and studied the construction of such artifacts. I think he is the one who would understand this most. I cannot think of a better person to lead the effort to take Ubethrael's weapons from his minions and use them against him."

In the far distance, large shapes tinged with green fire loomed in the skies of the high heavens as flights of angels rose ready to repel the invaders.

Auriel spoke softly as the Angiris Council prepared to do battle. "For the sake of all Creation, I pray for hope that you are right, Tyrael."

* * *

**End of Chapter 2**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Originally I'd meant this to be a very different story from what you just read but then I stumbled across this thread in reddit: np. reddit r /Xcom /comments /1s40dv /would_a_medieval_era_xcom_spinoff_work/
> 
> There was just so much win in the whole thing that I decided then and there that I would rather write a Diablo version of XCOM instead of the 'The Nephalem falls in to XCOM' fic I had planned.
> 
> So this story is dedicated to the crazy posters, commenters and redditors of that aforementioned thread. Thank you for filling my head with crazy ideas and making me scrap whatever I had of this story to expand that concept instead. This is going to be fun!
> 
> -|P


	3. The Return To Bastion's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vrom and party arrive at Bastions Keep and meet Sir Bradford. Yes, medieval Bradford and Shen are here.

**3.**

**The Return To Bastion's Keep**

* * *

"Of all the run-down, unwanted ruined fortresses in Sanctuary, he had to pick this one," Lyndon grumbled as Vrom's wagon trundled down the icy road in the middle of a heavy snowstorm. Ahead, the outline of Bastion's Keep rose out up from the landscape. The fortress had definitely seen better days, and the wounds left by Azmodan's siege not that many moons ago were still visible on the crumbling walls.

Lyndon continued his whinging with something along the lines of "Oh by Akarat, not this bloody damned place again." Vrom, pulling his cloak close around him, heartily agreed in his mind, even as Kormac rebuked the scoundrel for complaining.

"I have every right to complain! So far the only reward that seems to be coming from being good and saving the world once is being asked to save it again. You'd think someone else could be bothered to take a turn or something. Especially with such foul weather!" The fat flakes of snow swirling down around them only added to the misery of the situation.

The templar was unsympathetic. "You could have gone on your way if it bothered you that much!" Kormac snapped at the scoundrel.

Lyndon followed up with some snarky reply, but Vrom wasn't listening. A cold chill had suddenly settled upon him, and one that had nothing to do with the tundric weather around them.

''Is everything all right?" Eirena, sensitive as ever, asked him with concern. But her voice seemed to be coming from far away as he focused, straining his ears to sift through the layers of sound, to ignore the sharp whistle of icy wind over snow, the squabbling of the two men behind him—

—and heard over all that sound, the cries of men, and chitters of creatures inhuman.

He was off and racing across the snow even before Kormac and Lyndon even realised he had thrown down the reins. Kormac only realised that he was gone because Eirena had jumped off the passenger side of the wagon and in pursuit of him.

"Vrom, you'll get lost in the snowstorm—  _Oh!_ "

He knew she'd heard the same sounds he had now. Even if she couldn't, she could certainly see the flashing green lights through the curtain of falling snowflakes ahead.

The snow crunched beneath his heels and just ahead, Vrom could see corpses lying in the snow. Most were human, clad in the regalia of the Iron Wolves of Caldeum, and were still smoking with green fire, but a couple of them were—

"Greys!" he hissed, as another hail of green fire raked the air. The attacker, a spindly little Fallen-like creature, whirled around on detecting his entrance.

It ceased casting the bolts of green fire, probably intending to switch targets, but before it could resume casting, a tall, swarthy man sprang forward from the rock he had been hiding behind. With savage fury he speared the creature with a single thrust of his weapon: a long halberd. But there was not a moment to rejoice in his victory, for Vrom noticed movement somewhere in the snow behind him and instinctively threw his dagger, neatly catching another Grey in the throat before it could summon its bolts of green fire.

He turned to see Eirena cast an arcane bolt at another hidden Grey. The pale skin of the Fallen-like creature blended well in the snow, but after its body had been charred by the energy of Eirena's magic, not so much.

Finally, there was silence.

"That appears to be the last of them. It is over," said the surviving Iron Wolf, panting as he did so. "I thank you for your aid, honoured Nephalem."

"What is an Iron Wolf doing so far away from Caldeum?" asked Vrom, looking rather uncomfortable at the soldier's deep bow and awed gaze.

"My name is Deltan, the second of that name. A group of my brethren travelled here from Caldeum at the behest of Commander Asheara and His Majesty Hakan. We came to aid Tyrael's Excommunication effort but we were waylaid before we could reach the fortress. Alas for my friends, they did not survive."

"I wish we had been here sooner," Eirena looked sad as she surveyed the fallen. "Oh, but you are injured!"

Deltan attempted to make light of the injury he had received during the fight, but Vrom was having none of it. "This is not the time for false valour, Deltan. The green fire burns will worsen once the rush of battle is gone. We have a templar with us. Kormac's healing abilities are limited, but he should be able to tend to your wounds."

On his instruction Eirena led Deltan back to where the wagon and the other two were waiting. When Vrom was sure that they were out of sight, he proceeded with the unpleasant task of taking care of the corpses. He started by removing what personal artifacts he could find on what was left of the slain Iron Wolves before setting the bodies aside. There would be no time to bury them, but a pyre would suffice.

As for the demons, they were of considerably more interest to him.

"More of the same Grey Fallen as the camp attacks," he murmured to himself.

When it came to Fallen, Vrom had slain countless numbers and varieties of the demons. But despite the superficial similarities, the grandmaster demon hunter wasn't even sure if the creatures they'd dubbed as 'Greys' were Fallen. Besides having grossly oversized eyes for Fallen, they lacked horns and tufted ears, and their colouring was an unusual pale grey. They still made annoying chittering sounds and were just as spindly and cowardly as the breed of demons he was used to, so he mentally classified them as Fallen anyway.

There was one rather notable thing about these new Fallen however. Unlike the traditional Fallen, none of them preferred melee combat and had all managed to arm themselves with odd-shaped wands that could cast bursts of green fire at their enemies. The destructive power of the green magic and the rate of fire had been quite impressive. Vrom would have put it at the level of what his comrade, the Xiansai mage Li Ming, had been capable of. And given that Li Ming was the only one out of their group of Nephalem whose magic could rival his explosives in sheer destructiveness, that was saying something.

He thought of the rows of graves back in the demon hunter camps in the Dreadlands and frowned. As foes, the Greys were a joke. They were weak, cowardly, and physically unimposing. Their weapons, on the other hand, were not, and there had been far too many casualties. Even with all the skill and training his fellow hunters had, their numbers were only in the hundreds and in the face of the sudden invasion, their ranks were dwindling.

The spectre of losing the war crossed his mind. He pushed it away and began gathering what fragments remained of the Greys' weapons. Perhaps with careful study, they would yield their secrets to him.

* * *

"So... Tyrael  _did_  say 'Bastion's Keep' right?"

Lyndon's complaint was for once, with merit. The ruined fortress looked deserted and utterly devoid of life.

Kormac looked up from where he had been tending to Deltan's wounds. "We can't all have heard it wrong. But odd... no one seems to be around."

"You truly think so?" It was then when the three men noticed Vrom had his hand on his weapons all this while. So had Eirena.

Eirena turned to Vrom. "They have been watching us for a while now. I sense no ill intent."

"I would hope not, for their sake," Vrom replied. The demon hunter then turned to the ruins and called out: "Well, aren't you all going to greet us?"

For a moment it seemed that Vrom was being his usual eccentric self, then several men who had been hiding in the shadows of the ruins stepped into the open. All were armed, but their weapons remained at their sides. The spear and crossbow were in Kormac and Lyndon's hands almost instantly.

"Peace. We are friendlies." The leader of the sentinels stepped forward and saluted. "I apologise for not coming forward earlier. We had to check to make sure you really were who we were expecting."

"So you are the men Tyrael sent to aid the cause?"

"Yes, and welcome back to Bastion's Keep, sir. It is an honour to meet one of the Nephalem." The man smiled and gestured at himself. "I am Sir Bradford of the Westmarch Central Guard. Captain Haile spoke very highly of you and of your valour during Azmodan's siege, and he sent me to aid you in your quest."

Vrom gave the man a once over. The man didn't look that much older than himself: fair complexion as typical of those from Westmarch, close-cropped brown hair, no helm. To protect against the cold he wore a green woolen coat over his chainmail, and a short sword hung by his side. Vrom had the impression the thing wasn't just for show, and that the man did know how to use it.

"Well met, Sir Bradford. Is Captain Haile here?"

"I'm afraid not, sir, but he sent us in his place. My men and I were the first to arrive, followed by the Xiansai contingent. We've been hard at work trying to get Bastion's Keep back into some semblance of order. It has not been an easy task, but it will have to be one we undertake."

"And you've actually started on the undertaking, right?" Lydon sniffed somewhat dubiously. "Because the damn place still looks like a ruin to me."

Indeed, Bastion's Keep looked every bit as ruined and abandoned as it had on the day Vrom had left it and the survivors had moved out.

"It does not look like much at the moment," Kormac admitted, grudgingly agreeing with his hated rival. "But I'm sure we can—"

Sir Bradford held up a hand to silence them. "What you're looking at isn't the New Bastions Keep. We had a change of plans— follow me." He led them into the heart of the ruins. Under normal circumstances Vrom would have been wary of a trap, especially as his instincts told him that despite the look of desolation, something was not quite right.

"This is an impressive illusion," Eirena spoke up. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold, but her blue eyes sparkled as she took in their surroundings. "It is very subtle, you would think nothing living had visited here if you were not sensitive to the traces of magic that still linger."

"Illusion?" asked Vrom, raising an eyebrow.

Sir Bradford smiled. "The Xiansai contingent had some impressive ideas about how to conceal our new base of operations. Don't worry about your wagon, sir, I'll see that it gets moved into the base. Please step this way. Yes, just here." They were now standing in what looked like the main courtyard of the keep. Then Sir Bradford took out his sword and tapped at one of the flagstones beneath his feet.

The floor gave way beneath them. To be accurate, the whole floor of the courtyard sunk into the earth, much to the astonishment of the gathered travelers.

"Our new base of operations is underground?" Vrom was mildly impressed. "And you built all this in such a short amount of time?"

"Yes, our enemies can't attack us if they don't know where we are."

Before long the sky was but a round disc of light far above them, and growing smaller and smaller every second as they descended into the bowels of the earth. The platform, which moved smoothly and noiselessly, didn't seem to be operated by ropes and pulleys. Vrom found its construction fascinating. "How does this thing work?"

"I'm not sure how it works, but it manages to provide a concealed entrance to our new base," Sir Bradford confided. "That mad genius Shen calls it an 'access shaft'."

"Shen? Covetous Shen is here?" Vrom remembered the eccentric jeweler well, but he last he had heard, the old man had gone back with Li Ming to Xiansai. Small world indeed.

"I'm not sure of the old man's first name actually. Everyone just calls him Shen," Bradford admitted. "That's odd, he's never mentioned meeting the Nephalem before."

The platform finally came to a stop and Vrom could see they were in a massive underground cavern, which had been converted into a keep, complete with everything that could be expected of such a place. Bradford pointed out the passages leading to the barracks, armory and infirmary, the last of which Deltan was promptly sent to.

The crown jewel of the base however, turned out to be something Vrom hadn't expected. "... that's where Shen plans to build the foundry and and this... this is the War Room." Sir Bradford had obviously been saving the best for last, and couldn't suppress the look of pride as he ushered them into a large, high-ceilinged chamber.

'The War Room', was an interesting deviation from what Vrom had been used to when Tyrael had been the one commanding the defense of Bastion's Keep. Back then it had been a makeshift thing, a room filled with frantic men, dispatches, and maps lining the wall. This room however, while similarly filled with bustling men, had clearly been made with the singular purpose of coordinating a war effort in mind.

"This is rather impressive..." Vrom admitted, looking up at a glowing blue illusion image of a globe in the center of the room. Careful inspection revealed that it was being projected from a miniature version of the globe in the space below it. The glowing crustal ball was projecting an entire model of the world, with the maps of the Sanctuary painstakingly integrated upon its surface. Here and there there were glowing red spots. Vrom noticed a particularly large one smack in the center of the Dreadlands, where the demon hunter camps were.

"I never knew the world of Sanctuary was round," Kormac uttered in awe behind him.

"The mages from Xiansai came up with this. This globe represents the state of Sanctuary, and the mages manipulate the globe to show the areas that have been suffering attacks from these invaders."

"So, what do you all do here, exactly?" Lyndon asked. "You know, besides making pretty models of the world and all?"

A flash of irritation passed Bradford's eyes, but anxious to impress the Nephalem, he concealed it. "The globe helps us coordinate our war efforts, and we send aid to where we can as we receive it.

"As for me, my duties here are twofold - I provide strategic support for our warriors in the battlefield, and I endeavor to keep our commander briefed on the latest news, enemy movements and other issues of import. It is my hope that my efforts will allow you to focus on the greater task at hand, Nephalem, sir," he added, turning to Vrom.

"Vrom is fine, Bradford. "

"Yes, Commander Vrom. Speaking of which, Shen of the Xiansai contingent mentioned he had some message of some import. He is awaiting you in the armory. I should let you attend to the matter."

Vrom was weary after his long journey, and there was nothing he would have liked as much as to find somewhere to slip into oblivion for a few hours, but the looks the people were shooting at him put an end to that thought. They were all looking up to him, as if he was some kind of legend, putting their hopes for salvation in his hands and expecting him to save them. He couldn't fail them now.

_Just when had he become a saviour, anyway?_

He reflected that when he had started on his path as a demon hunter, he'd been a grieving boy who had wanted vengeance for the death of his family. Grandmaster Josen had found him, trained him, turned him into a living weapon. And he'd been content to be a weapon, slaking his thirst for revenge with rivers of demon blood. His plans for the rest of his life had been simple: he'd kill every damn demon that crossed his path, and then one day he'd finally fall in battle and and die alone. A very uncomplicated fate he had accepted for himself.

But this project, this war effort that Tyrael had assigned him to lead, was anything but that. Being a leader of men did not come naturally to him.

Not for the first time Vrom wondered what he was doing there.

* * *

**End of Chapter 3**


End file.
